


They Call It The Rising Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BASED LMAO, Dream Being Manipulative, Dream is in Prison, Gen, Guys Phil pulls a standard Dad Move, He nearly punches the daylights out of Dream, House Of The Rising Sun based, PogChamp, Protective Phil ‘Dadza’ Watson, Song fic, Techno gets Nostalgic, trademarked, when technoblade >>
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Shrugs. Technoblade is walking home from an unknown adventure whilst Philza Minecraft nearly beats the shit out of Dream.Ranboo is there as well. I love Ranboo.This fic is based off of the folk song ‘House of the Rising Sun’ which is a total bop.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 95





	They Call It The Rising Sun

_There is a house, in New Orleans_

_They call The Rising Sun_

_It's been the ruin of many a poor boy_

_And God, I know, I'm one_

Technoblade looked to his shared home as he was coming back from gathering wood. It was a nice home. Home was where Phil and Ranboo were.

Phil and Ranboo were his family. Phil, his friend. Ranboo, his apprentice. They were Technoblade’s fucked up family.

People he would protect. People he would lay down his life for.

_My mother was a tailor_

_She sewed my new blue jeans_

_My father was a gamblin' man_

_Down in New Orleans_

The piglin hybrid quietly hummed the folk song to himself. The song gave him an underwhelming sense of familiarity. It made him feel at peace.

He never had the chance to really bond with his parents. They were killed by orphans when he was young, and Techno was self-sufficient afterwards. Until he met Phil, of course. Phil had taken him in after finding him wandering the Nether.

They’d became friends afterwards. Sure, Techno was closer to Wilbur’s age rather than Philza’s, but it worked out. Technoblade was able to bond with Phil’s kids, anyways.

_Now the only thing a gambler needs_

_Is a suitcase and a trunk_

_And the only time he's satisfied_

_Is when he's all drunk_

The song didn't hold any specific meaning to Technoblade. It was just something that barely, just barely, fit him.

His cabin in the arctic. His need for bloodlust. No, the song didn’t really fit, did it?

Technoblade was constantly gambling his life away. But did he ever lose? Certainly not.

A god never loses. A god never dies. And, certainly, a god never sheds blood.

Yet, Techno has bled. Techno has lost to those who have used him.

_Oh mother, tell your children_

_Not to do what I have done_

_Spend your lives in sin and misery_

_In the House of the Rising Sun_

He and Phil have the same problems. The voices. He wouldn't doubt if Ranboo had the same problem he and Phil had.

The voices seemed to be common in their dynamic. Close mentor/protégé relationship. The voices. The unbearable need to do oh, so many, terrible and horrible things and be unable to recognize that you’re doing something horrifying.

The need for blood is so utterly horrifying. But if it’s what the voices want, they’ll get it.

_Well, I got one foot on the platform_

_The other foot on the train_

_I'm goin' back to New Orleans_

_To wear that ball and chain_

Finally. He was back home.

He dumped all the wood into a pile outside of the home. There really wasn't space for it inside.

Techno then swung the door open. "'M home."

Ranboo was the one to greet him. "Welcome back, Mr. Blade!"

Techno grunted, ruffling the kid's hair. "Where's Phil?"

"He said he had to go out for something. Told me to tell you he'd be back soon." Ranboo shrugged.

Techno nodded. "Mmm, did he give you a time?"

"Uh, well... He left around an hour ago, and said he'd be back in... three hours? I think?"

"Ah. Okay."

Philza stood outside of Pandora's Vault. Was he mentally prepared to see the man inside? No. Was he going to see him anyways? Definitely.

"Dream." He said as he was let into the cell.

"Philza Minecraft." Dream simply replied, smiling.

"Could ya stop terrorizing my kids for one fuckin' minute, mate?" Philza sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ranboo doesn't deserve this."

Dream's smile turned into a grin laced with pure malice. "You're right. He doesn't. Which is why he should simply shut me out."

"He can't do that, Dream. He's not strong enough for that. Jesus Christ."

Dream chuckled, “Oh, Phil. I’m not even real. Well, I’m real, to you. This version of me is. But how Ranboo sees me? That’s not me.

“He needs to learn. Children learn best through discipline, don’t they?

“Hey, you’re a father, Phil! Answer this question for me; What kind of a father kills their own son?”

Philza glared at him bitterly. “I think it’s time for me to go, Dream.”

Dream smirked as he watched Philza leave. “Only a father who can’t handle their children’s weaknesses kills their own blood!”

No one mentioned how stressed and pissed Philza looked when he came home. And no one certainly mentioned it when the eldest had stabbed his sword into a wooden log.

Frustration, Ranboo and Techno supposed. It was normal.

Of course, anything was normal in the House of the Rising Sun.

_Well, there is a house in New Orleans_

_They call The Rising Sun_

_And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy_

_And God, I know I'm one_


End file.
